The Best Medicine

[princeinexile]

He slept through the night; something -- evened out. It was good, and he slept, deeper, more restful. His readings improved as he went from unconsciousness into true REM sleep, dreams keeping him down, out...
She was there; so was uncle, and cousin Luten; in the distance, his father and Azula were coming down from the walkway, into the garden.
With rest came renewed strength-- but with renewed strength, the waking world threatened to make itself known, and there was a edge of pain waiting. It was a gate of razors, moving from deep sleep to wakefulness.
Turtleducks -- five babies, a mother and a father -- swam in the pond, and they laughed as they scattered bread for them. He still hadn't mastered his mother's touch; she could touch the water and the animals would take bread from her hand without fear. But they still came close to him, let him feed them, going qua~ qua~ qua. They were content, well fed, and safe.
He stirred; subtle, small leaps of muscle beneath the skin. The process of transition, of one state to another. Miscroscopic, tired stretching -- it should have hurt, but the pain did not reach him. There was something that kept the deepest part of him protected; a mother's love, a sister's compassion (when had his sister ever been compassionate? he wondered fuzzily), an uncle's devotion, a father's respect (no, that's not right, either, Zuko thought.)
Lu-Ten leaned over him; he was Zuko's age now, and they laughed -- they could have been brothers, and that was good. Azula ran to join them as they left the pond and raced for some unknown destination--
Zuko's eyelids fluttered, and then slowly opened.
Mother? Mother, uncle, father! Come with us! Come-- with--
"... mother?"
They faded like the dawn, leaving a feeling of contentment that the pain couldn't touch.
There was a peony cradled in one palm.

In which Steph wakes up, all doped out from painkillers, and thinks she's back in Gotham.

[alwaysroomforhope]

Steph had dreamed.

She dreamed there was a bar at the end of the universe, and people who loved her, and a second chance.

She dreamed she'd woken up and learned to fly a skateboard without wheels.

She dreamed she'd had real friends, and real family, and even lovers. She dreamed she'd broken hearts and had her heart broken. She dreamed she'd died, and afterwards she'd been happy.


Now when she shifts her arm weakly, a tube drags at it, stops her from moving. She hurts. She's dizzy and sick and the ceiling won't come into focus. Dr Thompkins must be somewhere else.

Tim hasn't come to visit her yet. Why hasn't he come? Does he know?

She misses Tim.

Hospital beds are cold. Or is it just that she's cold - or is she hot? She's burning. Why isn't anyone here to tell her which it is?

She can't hear the war outside. Maybe it ended while she was dreaming there was something else. (a bar, at the end of the world - to die for.)

It hurts, waking up. Maybe she won't bother just yet. She shifts restlessly and then gasps in pain as the movement stretches the burned skin.